


Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep, I Am Not There, I Do Not Sleep.

by istillbelievein398_2



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, How do I tag?, I cried while writing this, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Minor Destiel, Out of Character, Out of Character Dean, Sad, how do you tag?, mostly tears, ooc, very sad, you will cry while reading it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 09:51:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1221820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/istillbelievein398_2/pseuds/istillbelievein398_2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something I came up with in the middle of the night. Unbetaed sadness, basically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep, I Am Not There, I Do Not Sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for what you're about to read <3

Sam.

Sam is dying.

Sam is actually, really, dying, and Dean cannot wrap his head around it. He should have seen it coming-the apocalypse, some might call it. Rebelling angels instead of zombies. Dean and Cas had been standing guard in front of the bunker while Sam was out, gathering food. 

Dean had though Sam was one of the angels.

And he had shot him. 

And now, Castiel and him had dragged Sam into the bunker, into his bed. His breathing was slow, his pulse nearly non-existent. 

"Dean?" He asked quietly, wincing, the bullet wound in his chest making it nearly impossible to speak.

Dean perched on the side of the bed. 

"What is it, Sammy?" 

"Please don't blame yourself. For any of it. And I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, really, you're still my brother and I-" He began to cough, blood spilling from the corners of his mouth.

"You're still my brother, and I love you." He finished, attempting to wipe the blood away.

"I thought you promised me that when we finally bit the bullet, there wouldn't be any stupid chick flick moments." Dean teased, brushing a lock of Sams hair away from his eyes, and bringing him back, again, to their youth.

Sam had gotten sick, and nine year old Dean had been tasked with taking care of him while their dad was out hunting. Sam had been lying in bed, alternating between hacking up a lung and sleeping like the d-never mind. But Dean had felt powerless, the only thing he could do was give him medicine every once in a while. It had been almost exactly like this, really. Dean sitting beside Sam and waiting for him to fall asleep.

"Really, Dean, this is important. I don't want to-to die, with you thinking I'm mad at you." He rasped. 

"It's alright, Sam. You have all the right in the world to be mad at me. I ripped you away from your life, I should have let you finish school, and now I'm going to be responsible for your death, and I can't even try to save you..."

"Dean. I'm ready to die. I've had a good life, okay? I spent it with my best friends-you and Cas. I've done things that I never would have thought about. I've fought demons and monsters and angels. It's been good." 

Dean bit at his lip, a single tear running down his face. 

"Can you go get Cas?" Sam asked softly. 

"Alright." 

By the time Dean could pull Cas in, Sam might be dead. But he wouldn't be, Dean told himself. 

"Cas?" He called down the hall, and the angel poked his sleep-riddled head out of Deans room.

"Sam wants to talk to you." 

Cas nodded, and followed Dean to Sam's bed, where mercifully, he was still breathing shallow breathes. 

"Now Cas, I want you to take good care of Dean, okay? He might act like he's fine, but he won't be. He never is, when someone he cares about dies." Sam instructed, groaning as he sat up to hug Cas.

"Thank you." He whispered, as he gripped the angel tightly. 

Castiel simply nodded. 

As he pulled away, Sam began to cough, faster and harder, blood pouring out of his mouth in a steady trickle. 

"Sam..." Dean said in a horrified voice, as he sat down on the bed and wrapped his arms around Sam, who held him back weakly. 

"I love you, you bitch." Dean said, tears evident in his voice. 

"Love you too, jerk." Sam replied, and with that exchange, he gave a final cough, and slumped against Dean. 

Sam Winchester is dead. 

In a few minutes, Dean lets him go and stands up.

"Oh God, I have to go salt-and-burn my baby brother." Dean gasped, hiding his face in his hands. 

"I'm so sorry, Dean." Castiel whispered, tears on his own face, a hand on Deans shoulder. 

"It wasn't your fault-it was mine." Dean said, guilt and anger and sadness setting in. 

"It was an accident." 

"I shot him!" 

"Accidentally." 

"DAMN IT CAS, I KILLED MY BROTHER!" Dean yelled, hand slapping the bedside table. 

"Do you know, Dean WInchester, how many times I have purposefully killed my brethren?" 

"Your brethren were trying to kill you." 

Castiel simply sighed and took a sobbing Dean into his arms. 

*******************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Later on that horrifying day, they were standing in front of a roaring fire in the middle of the forest, Dean hidden in Castiels side, against the smoke and flames.

Castiel was reading from a large green book, not a bible, but close enough. 

"Who has the promise of being blessed in his doing? But he that looketh into the perfect law,the law of liberty, and so continueth being not a hearer that forgetteth, but a doer that worketh, this man shall be blessed in his doing. But what may we know that we have passed from death unto life? We know that we have passed from death unto life because we love the brethren..." 

"Why?" Dean asked.

"Because it is a force of habit, and you need something to focus on besides this." 

"But Cas-"

"He asked me to take care of you, Dean. An so I will." 

And so he did. 

*******************************************************************************************************************************************************************  
EPILOGUE

On a day, many, many years later, there were two men, who you probably would have over looked, standing in a graveyard next to a small church in Kansas. The sun shines, the birds sing, and a light, cool wind ruffles the trees. It is fall. 

"Found him." Said the smaller one in the trench coat.

The taller one in the leather jacket smiles a watery smile, and you notice the small child he holds in his arms. 

"This is your uncle, Sammy." He says to the boy.

"He had the same name as you. He was a damn good man." 

The man in the trench coat lays his head against the other mans shoulder. 

"Yes, he was." 

Soon, they leave, and you cannot resist walking over to look at the tombstone, a fascination of yours for years. 

"Sam Winchester."

A set of numbers so worn you can barely read. 

"Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there. I do not sleep."


End file.
